


Palpitation

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Forced Self Care, M/M, Sleeping Too Little, Working Too Much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt like his spark was fluttering again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palpitation

It felt like his spark was fluttering again. He grumbled, tapping his chestplate a few times until the sensation went away and continued to work; internal chronometer screaming at him that it was hour 49; that he needed to rest, he needed to recharge- something.

He silenced the alarms, and felt the flutter again.

Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

He huffed a vent, and reached for a datapad.

And then the pain started.

He winced, then he wheezed and coughed harshly. His vents clamped shut and refused to open, and warnings popped up in his HUD on his suddenly spiking core temperature and his optic feed went fuzzy.

It was when the vertigo hit him that he realized what was wrong. He wheezed though his intake, his spark felt like it was collapsing in on itself; a neutron star was burning behind his chestplate, and his left optic feed went grey.

He turned, locking his sparking sight on the chair at his desk, and took a step-

And tumbled to his knees. Forgoing movement, he pushed himself up so that his backstruts rested against the cabinet doors and lifted a shaky hand to activate his comms.

“R-Ratchet!”, he wheezed.

::Perceptor, what is- Percy? Primus, are you alright?!::

::Spark pounding. Can’t walk. Dizzy. Vents locked down.::

::…Sonuva… I’m on my way, are you in your hab?::

::Lab A. Counter by door.::

::Hold on, I’ll be there in two kliks, try to keep upright.::

Comms pinged and force-offlined. Perceptor pressed back against the cabinets, coughing hoarsely every time he felt his sparkrate slowing. He offlined his optics completely; counting the seconds between each cough. 30, then 25, then suddenly ten and no sign of Ratchet.

One whole side felt numb yet burning, and his servos twitched. His sparkrate dropped, and he forced a cough again, pounding at his chestplate with the desperation of those who fear the light.

“Percy!”

The door hissed, Ratchet’s voice booed into the lab and he turned his face to the sound.

“Sparkrate dropping-”

“Keep talking, recite research, just keep talking. You’re gonna be fine, don’t focus on it.”

Perceptor nodded, letting motormouth tendencies rise from the past and rattling off anything that came to mind. The specs of his rifle, Brainstorm’s most recent antics, the chemical composition of engex.

The beep of a scan, and Ratchet cursed, comming First Aid.

“I know, I know, its late but he’s barely holding on Aid, I need you to get UP OFF YOUR BERTH AND GET DOWN HERE.”

A shake of Perceptor’s shoulder, and Ratchet was talking to him now.

“Percy, where’s the lock, where’s the latches for your chestplate, I need to see what’s going on. Aid is on his way, you’re gonna be alright.”

Perceptor lifted a shaking hand, flicking the latch at the bottom of his chestplate and shuddering from the hiss of the seal releasing. Heat poured down over his front like a tangible thing and Ratchet muttered angrily to himself.

The door hissed again, and First Aid was there and talking; fuzzy in his audials, sound was getting so fuzzy.

He was being moved, lifted? He couldn’t tell, he felt heavier than he ever had. Heavy and tired, so heavy and tired and-

The world went dark.

Perceptor awoke, the medibay’s noise and bustle waking him from too deep a sleep to see Drift snoring softly in a chair beside his… berth? When had he gotten here?

He moved to sit up, and then Ratchet was in front of him, worried and furious and tired beyond irritability. Ratchet put a heavy hand against Perceptor’s chestplate, and none-too-gently shoved him back against the berth.

“Do not. Even. THINK. About it.”, growled the old medic, “Do you REALIZE what almost happened?”

“Surprisingly, no. Unconsciousness does that.”, quipped Perceptor quietly.

“You nearly offlined. TWICE.”

“I what?”

“Your spark. Nearly stopped. Twice.”, said Ratchet, his voice rough like old road gravel, “You’ve been in surgery sixteen hours.”

“I… what?”

“Ever heard of old war wounds acting up?”, sighed Ratchet, “That’s what happened to you; and it manifested by your spark trying to burn itself out. The scarring around and inside your sparkchamber; because of you forcing yourself to work ridiculous hours with little recharge or fuel, your autorepair has been going haywire trying to repair microdamages… and unfortunately, OVER-repaired old scars. Your sparkchamber was filling with scar tissue. You almost smothered your own pulse.”

Perceptor stared with a wide optic, feeling a cramp in the other and wincing.

“Your scope overheated due to your core temp. I had to remove it during surgery to prevent burning or WORSE.”

Perceptor nodded, feeling the adhesive patch over the empty optic canal, “…How did it get so bad so… quickly?”

“Lack of recharge can cause immune issues. Small bugs in your codes, glitches in hardware. You may have gotten a small fever, perhaps a spit of static hit your processor and you ignored the helmache and your health degraded from there.”

Drift chose that moment to groan awake, and stretch. A catlike yawn, and he onlined and unshuttered his optics to see Perceptor awake and speaking to Ratchet.

“And yes Drift, before you ask, you can do your thing. But be gentle; he’s still healing.”

Ratchet grinned in a way Perceptor couldn’t place before taking his leave and… shutting the door?

“Percy?”, said Drift sweetly. _Too_ sweetly. _Sickly sweet._

“Ah, erm, y-es Drift?”

_“AM I GOING TO HAVE TO MAGNETIZE YOU TO A BERTH, **OR JUST BURN DOWN YOUR LAB?!”**_

Perceptor jolted, blinking owlishly at Drift. Drift, who’s plating had flared out like a hissing and spitting feline; who’s voice had dropped no less than two octaves to a minefield rumble.

“You NEED to take _CARE OF YOURSELF!_ ”

“I-”

_“AND DON’T YOU **DARE** TELL ME YOU ARE, BECAUSE IF YOU WERE YOU WOULDN’T HAVE HAD A DAMN **SPARKATTACK** AT PRIMUS KNOWS **WHEN** IN THE MORNING!”_

Perceptor winced, “….I know, I know, I’m sorry-”

“No, no Sorry, no I Didn’t Mean It.”, growled Drift, “From now on, if you aren’t _IN THE BERTH_ or at _LEAST_ the suite when your shift is over, I’m fetching you **MYSELF.”**

“…Yes dear.”

“And if you fight, I’ll have you sedated and hauled back.”

“Drift, love, that’s a bit extreme don’t you th-”

“Percy, I got commed in after the FIRST flatline.”, said Drift bluntly, “And I was _NEXT TO YOU_ when all of a sudden, your spark went haywire _AGAIN_ and they had to open you up _AGAIN_ and then those machines just…”

Drift shook his helm, taking Perceptor’s hand in his own and tracing over the microplating with his thumbs.

“Nothing’s louder than a flatline; it was only a few seconds but it was the second time in one night and even RATCHET was scared. You _NEED_ to be more careful. This time there isn’t going to be a CR case or a stasis chamber that can save you, Perceptor.”

Perceptor heaved a sigh, wincing when his internal torso components throbbed.

“They lasered away most of the unnecessary healing. Your sparkchamber was filled 75% of the way. Don’t glitch out your systems for silly reports or titrations that can wait til the next shift.”

“…Alright, alright. I’ll… be more careful. I’ll at least try.”

Drift looked at him, narrowing his optics.

“Do you promise.”

“…Yes Drift, I promise.”


End file.
